


take a breath (dive in)

by extasiswings



Series: a better fate [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-13 18:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: In the end, destroying Rittenhouse doesn’t involve a big final showdown or even anything terribly dramatic. After a couple of years of ups and downs, chasing monsters through time and space, it’s actually rather anticlimactic.A bullet in the right gun, a flash of resignation across the face of an unknown agent, and it’s over. It’s done.They go home. Time moves on. Life is...normal.But they don’t forget. They can’t.He can’t.





	1. Chapter 1

In the end, destroying Rittenhouse doesn’t involve a big final showdown or even anything terribly dramatic. After a couple of years of ups and downs, chasing monsters through time and space, it’s actually rather anticlimactic.

A bullet in the right gun, a flash of resignation across the face of an unknown agent, and it’s over. It’s done.

They go home. Time moves on. Life is...normal.

But they don’t forget. They can’t.

He can’t.

* * *

“Garcia? I’m home.”

“Kitchen,” Flynn calls back, listening for the clatter of Lucy’s keys in the bowl by the door, the click of her heels on the hardwood. He sets the knife in his hand aside and has just turned to check the stove when familiar arms slide around his waist from behind. 

“Something smells good,” Lucy remarks, and Flynn turns in her embrace to kiss her hello.

“Lasagna,” he replies, his hands settling on her waist. “Or it will be at least. How was your day?”

She sighs and turns her cheek against his chest as her arms tighten around him. There are dark circles under her eyes—not a wholly uncommon occurrence since they’ve stopped racing through time, but it gives Flynn pause nonetheless.

(Both of them have nightmares, sleep light and uneasy, but it’s been easier lately. He thinks she would tell him if something was wrong, but…)

“That good?” He asks.

“Remind me why I wanted to go back to teaching?” Lucy replies, the words muffled by his shirt.

Flynn’s fingers trace a slow circuit along her spine as he drops his lips to her hair. “I think it was something about how living off the money we invested back in the 40s would be cheating.”

It gets a laugh out of her, a laugh and a raised eyebrow, and he kisses her again before she can remind him that “we” was actually just him, Wyatt, and Rufus, because she’d said the same thing before they actually went and did it.

“Well,” he adds when he pulls back, “that and you love teaching. Usually, at least.”

“It wasn’t a bad day,” Lucy acknowledges. “It was just frustrating. I overreacted to half a dozen things that weren’t even a big deal and I’m so tired I almost nodded off in the middle of a faculty meeting.” 

Something niggles at the back of Flynn’s mind, the whisper of a memory, something he should know but can’t quite recall. Whatever it is causes a cold pit to settle in his stomach.

He shakes it off.

“If you’re tired, you could go upstairs and sleep,” he offers. “This won’t be ready for an hour or so.”

Lucy bites her lip, clearly considering it. “I still have some papers to grade…”

“I’m sure your students will appreciate it if you’re well-rested when you get to them.”

“Are you saying I have less patience when I’m tired?” She teases. Flynn smirks.

“I’m saying that I’ve heard you talk about what bad writers your freshmen are enough that it’s likely for the best if you get some sleep,” he replies.

“That wasn’t a no,” Lucy points out, but she’s smiling when she tugs him down to kiss him again before she steps back. “You’ll wake me when dinner’s ready?”

“Of course.”

Flynn watches her go and the feeling returns once more. It sticks with him through the rest of his food prep, anxiety and discomfort tightening his chest.

 _She’s fine_ , he tells himself. _She’s stressed, she’s busy...she’s just tired._

(It feels like a lie)

 

Two days later, Lucy walks into the kitchen in the morning and promptly claps a hand over her mouth and runs out. Flynn abandons the eggs he’d been making, taking only the time necessary to shut off the stovetop before following her. 

He finds her retching in the hall bathroom and kneels down next to her, smoothing her hair back with one hand.

“Ugh,” Lucy groans, pressing her forehead to the edge of the toilet. “I’m going to kill Brenda.”

“Brenda?” Flynn asks, his free hand rubbing gently circles between her shoulder blades.

“My grad student,” she replies. “She had the stomach flu a few days ago. Must have given it to me.”

“Are you sure it’s the flu?” He doesn’t know what makes him ask—possibly the curling pit of dread in his own stomach, the same feeling from days before that there’s something he’s missing.

“I can’t think of what else it would be. Unless I somehow managed to get some sort of parasite—”

It hits him like a train.

_“What?”_

_“—said your child is a parasite,” Lorena grumbles, leaning back against his chest. “And whoever named this “morning” sickness should be shot for spreading misinformation.”_

_Flynn chuckles quietly and kisses her cheek before handing her a clean glass of water. “It’s **my** child now? I thought it was our child.”_

_“It’s your child when it’s making me sick at all hours of the day,” she replies. “How many more months of this?”_

_“Of the pregnancy or the morning sickness? Because the doctor said you should start feeling better in the next couple of weeks, but I have some bad news for you on the pregnancy front,” he teases._

_Lorena reaches around to shove at his shoulder. “Don’t be cute with me when I’m trying to complain. It’s not fair.”_

_Flynn catches her hand and kisses it. “Is there anything I can get you?”_

_“A better husband?”_

_“I’m afraid you’re stuck with this one.”_

_“Well, in that case…”_

“Garcia? Are you okay?”

Flynn’s frozen in place, barely even able to hear Lucy until she touches his cheek. The touch is so startling that he almost flinches and his surroundings come flooding back all at once.

“Garcia?”

Lucy’s eyes show nothing but concern, even with the telltale remnants of sickness. He struggles to make his tongue work, to find something to say that will reassure her. She shouldn’t be worrying about him right now, he should be taking care of her, especially if she’s—

(He can’t breathe)

“I’m fine,” Flynn forces out. His pulse is too fast, his heart pounding, and he scrambles to his feet. _Out, out, get out, run, go—_

“You should go back to bed, call into work that you’re sick. I’ll run to the store, grab some things to calm your stomach.”

“Garcia—”

“I’ll be back.”

His phone is already in his pocket—he grabs his keys, practically sprints out the door. Driving seems like a poor choice when he already feels like the walls are closing in around him, but the fresh air of the outdoors does very little to calm his mind.

Flynn makes it as far as the park a few blocks away, then nearly falls onto a bench before closing his eyes and trying to breathe.

 

_“I feel like a whale.”_

_“You look beautiful.”_

_Lorena catches Flynn’s eyes in the mirror and gives him a decidedly unimpressed look. “I don’t care if I’m a beautiful whale, I want to see my feet,” she replies._

_He crosses the room and settles his hands on her shoulders, gently feeling out the knots and tense places he could work out for her._

_“Only a little while longer,” he reminds. “But in the meantime, what do you need?”_

_“Besides not being pregnant anymore?” Lorena sighs and drops her head as his thumbs press into the tight muscles in her neck. “What would you do if I said half a dozen orgasms and a stiff drink?”_

 _Flynn hums and presses his lips to her ear, one of his hands skimming down her side._

_“I would say that one of those is banned by your doctor, but the other one...I could probably manage that.”_

_“You—” Lorena gasps when his hand reaches its destination and bites back a smile. “Garcia! I didn’t mean now!”_

_“Are you sure?” Flynn asks, his lips curving up in a smug smile. “We don’t have anything else to do…”_

_“You’re a bad man,” she breathes, her eyes falling closed._

_“And yet, you married me.”_

 

Flynn isn’t sure how long he stays on the bench, cycling through old memories. The tightness in his chest slowly loosens, but it still hurts to breathe, as if there’s a dull knife caught between his ribs. 

He should go home. Lucy’s probably worried—his phone has gone off several times since he left, but he’s just been letting it ring out—but he can’t move. The thought of getting up and returning to the house, answering questions, facing her directly—it threatens to send him spiraling again.

Eventually Flynn hears the crunch of boots on gravel and a moment later another body settles next to him on the bench.

“How’d you find me?” He asks without looking up.

“Lucy called,” Wyatt answers. “Said you went white as a sheet this morning and then ran out the door. For the record, leaving your wallet behind is not the best way to convince someone you’re going to the store.”

Flynn reaches into his pocket at that, mentally cataloguing the items within. Keys, phone—he swears internally realizing that Wyatt’s exactly right. He forgot his wallet.

“That still doesn’t explain—”

“Rufus tracked your phone,” Wyatt interrupts. “And then I drew the short straw and was tasked with coming here since Lucy’s sick.”

“You’re worse than the NSA,” Flynn mutters.

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” the other man replies. “Now, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Flynn feels the panic rise up in his throat like bile and swallows it back. 

_You’re safe, she’s safe, Rittenhouse is gone, they can’t touch her..._

“Lucy’s pregnant.”

The look on Wyatt’s face—as stunned as if he’d been hit over the head with a brick—might be funny in another circumstance, but Flynn’s in no state for laughter. Even saying the words feels like he’s broken some unspoken truce with the universe, set himself up for disaster. 

“That’s—I—wow, she didn’t say—”

Flynn waves him off. “She doesn’t know.”

The stunned look shifts to one of confusion, bordering on exasperation.

“So...you ran out of the house, disappeared for hours, worried her to pieces...because you have a hunch?” Wyatt clarifies.

(Okay, so he may be more than _bordering_ on exasperation)

Flynn lifts his head and glares. “If you recall, I’ve done this before,” he growls. “It’s not just a hunch when I know the signs.”

Wyatt lifts his hands— _Okay, my bad, calm down_ —and shakes his head. “Okay, fine, I can accept that,” he acknowledges. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re sitting here on a park bench instead of at home with Lucy.”

“Because,” Flynn replies. “She—I—”

Muffled gunshots echo in his head—the edges of his vision fuzz black as he struggles to fend off the images of Lorena and Iris from that night, as he tries not to think of Lucy and a nameless, faceless child in their place.

_Rittenhouse is gone, they’re gone, they can’t hurt them—_

_But what if they’re not?_

“Woah, woah, Flynn, Garcia, hey—” Wyatt’s grip is firm on his shoulders, steady, the pressure not quite painful but solid enough to focus on. “Breathe, man.”

_What kind of husband or father could I be after the things I’ve done?_

He’d said that back in 1780, back before he’d ever kissed Lucy, when the thought of a new relationship was almost entirely out of the question. He hadn’t only been referring to Lorena and Iris then—he couldn’t, he can’t. Even now when part of him wants those things more than anything—

There’s a reason he hasn’t asked Lucy to marry him, just like there’s a reason he still wears his wedding ring even now. He’s thought about asking so many times, but even thinking about it feels like tempting fate, like waving a flag saying _Hey, universe, go ahead and yank the rug out from under me_ , and he hasn’t been able to make the words come.

“I can’t—” Flynn reaches out and grasps Wyatt’s arm, needing the extra point of contact to stay upright as the world spins. “I can’t do it again,” he manages to say. “I can’t. I wouldn’t survive it if they—”

“Breathe,” Wyatt repeats, his voice firm, a soldier’s voice, and Flynn reacts to the command instinctually. Air fills his lungs—sharp and cold, but clean enough that it wipes the tang of blood from his nose. 

“In and out, okay?” The other man continues. “With me. In for one, two, three—”

They stay like that for a long while until Flynn’s vision clears and the fog lifts from his head. Wyatt’s watching him carefully when he shifts back.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Does what?” Flynn asks.

“Panic attacks. Episodes. Whatever you want to call them,” Wyatt replies. “Do they happen a lot?”

Flynn clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair. There’s a thin layer of cool sweat on his forehead that he wipes away with the back of his hand.

“No,” he answers. There’s no point in arguing with the assessment, certainly not when it’s coming from another soldier. “Not often.”

“Does Lucy know about them?”

“I—” He wants to say yes, of course she knows, he sleeps in her bed, she’s there when he wakes up shaking in the night and vice versa, but… “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Wyatt nods. “You should tell her if you think you can. Or if you can’t, but you want her to know, I could maybe—wouldn’t be as easy as if it were coming from you, but—” He shrugs. 

“Thanks,” Flynn replies, and while it comes out rougher than intended, it’s sincere. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Wyatt claps him on the shoulder and pulls him up off the bench. “Do you think you can go home now? I wasn’t kidding before. Lucy’s pretty worried.”

He considers that, thinks about his own state of mind, whether he can handle it. Yes. Probably. Maybe.

“Can we go to the store first?” He asks.

“With the wallet you don’t have?” 

Flynn rolls his eyes. “You know I’m good for it.”

“Sure.” And just like that, they’re back to normal.

They don’t talk about it again until Wyatt pulls up in front of the house and Flynn has to take a few deep breaths to steel himself.

“I’m not unhappy, you know,” he confesses, the small space of the car feeling safe enough for that much at least. “I want this—Lucy, a family, I do, I just—”

“You’re scared,” Wyatt fills in. 

Flynn nods once, a stilted, jerky thing, and Wyatt’s lips twist. “Yeah, well, look at it this way. Everyone’s scared about being a parent. Maybe yours is for a different reason than most, but...well, that’s still just life.”

 _Rittenhouse is gone_ , he reminds himself yet again, and takes another steadying breath.

“Just life,” Flynn echoes. “Sure. Okay.” 

“You know,” Wyatt says when Flynn goes to open the door. “You can call me, too. We saved the world together. I think it’s about time we were friends.”

It doesn’t get a laugh, but it does make him smile. Friends? Him and Wyatt?

He certainly wouldn’t have believed it a year ago.

“I’ll think about it,” Flynn replies. “See you around, Logan.”

Wyatt snorts and shakes his head. “Get out of my car, Flynn.”

The path up to the front door feels longer than usual, the small grocery bag with a pregnancy test weighing more heavily in his hand than it really ought to. Part of him considers turning around and running away again, but after running for so long, both alone and with Lucy, this is his home. Their home.

He’s not going anywhere.

“Lucy?” Flynn calls when he steps through the door. “I’m home.”

It’s time to face the future.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy sighs heavily as she stares after Flynn. She considers following him, but her stomach rebels at the thought of leaving the bathroom floor. Whatever had spooked him will just have to wait until later.

(If she’s frustrated it’s only because she’d thought they were past this kind of thing. They’ve gotten quite good at communicating lately, so this feels like a step back that she’d really rather not take)

She gives him two hours before she calls Wyatt and Rufus.

(She feels better. It’s somewhat surprising considering just how terrible she’d felt earlier, but she’s not going to complain about her body’s sudden return to sensibility after expelling the contents of her stomach and then some. Still, she calls into work anyway, settles herself on the couch, and waits for Flynn to come home)

It’s another hour before Lucy hears the jangle of keys in the front door.

“Lucy? I’m home.” 

“In the living room,” she calls back.

Part of her wants to be upset about the way he’d disappeared for ages, but when he appears in the doorway, exhaustion hanging from every line in his body, her anger and frustration mostly vanishes.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asks, sitting herself up. “You just vanished. I was worried.”

“Wyatt said,” Flynn acknowledges. “I—I’m sorry. I needed some air.”

She raises an eyebrow. “For over three hours?”

(Okay, maybe she’s still a little upset)

He winces. “Sorry. It’ll make sense, I swear.”

“Oh?” It’s then that Lucy notices the plastic grocery bag around his wrist. “What’s in the bag?”

Flynn shifts for a moment, passing the bag from hand to hand before finally crossing the room and handing over the small box that had been inside it.

She takes the box, then promptly drops it as though it were a hot iron when she reads the word _pregnancy_. 

“Why are you handing me a pregnancy test?”

“Because I think you might be pregnant.”

“Pregnant,” Lucy repeats, feeling a mildly hysterical laugh bubble up in her chest. No. No, that’s...no. “Garcia, don’t be ridiculous. I have the flu.”

She tamps down on the wave of panic that floods her when she realizes she can’t remember when she last had a period.

“If you have the flu, there’s no harm in taking the test,” he replies.

(She hates that his logic makes sense)

He was right though—it does explain a lot about why he’d run off so suddenly. He’d had a wife, a daughter, and convincing him that being with her at all wasn’t some kind of betrayal of their memories had been difficult enough. Starting a new family...they’d never talked about it, hadn’t planned for it. Of course he’d panicked. 

Lucy swallows hard, trying to ignore the way her hand shakes as she reaches for the box again. She may have felt better, but that’s no longer the case. Her stomach is roiling and she wants to retch again, but she thinks that only has a little bit to do with any lingering symptoms from earlier. 

“Fine.” Her voice is brittle and cracking, sharper than she’d meant it to be. “Fine, I’ll take it. And when it’s negative, we can put this whole thing behind us.”

She refuses to think about what happens if it isn’t negative. If she’s…

“Lucy—” Flynn reaches for her, but she slips off the couch and away from him before he can do much more than lightly brush her arm. She can’t be touched right now. It’s the last thing she wants when she feels like she might be flying apart at the seams.

“I’ll be back,” Lucy promises, trying to gentle her tone. She’s not entirely sure she’s successful given the kicked puppy look on his face, but she’s not sure she has it in her to do better at the moment. “I’ll be back and we’ll talk, Garcia.”

“I love you,” he says quietly and she has to look away lest he see the way her eyes blur with tears.

“I love you, too,” she manages, grateful that her voice doesn’t break. And then she retreats to the bathroom, leaning heavily against the door once she’s closed and locked it.

She doesn’t wait to take the test, pushing away her more distressed thoughts so that she can deal with them while waiting for the results. 

Lucy sets a timer, sets the test on the counter, washes her hands, and then sits on the toilet seat and puts her head in her hands.

She can’t be pregnant. She can’t be. 

Except that they haven’t always been the most careful, between times back in the past where they hadn’t had access to a whole lot of reliable birth control, and in the here and now where they’ve simply not talked about it. They live together, they’re mostly stable, responsible adults, she takes her pills...but those aren’t infallible. 

Her eyes burn again and she lets the tears come. She feels twisted up and cold, fear and panic forming a tight knot in her stomach. 

_I can’t do this_ , Lucy thinks. _I can’t be a mother. I don’t know the first thing about it_. 

And Garcia...he’s done this before. He knows how it goes. But what if he’d run because he doesn’t want this? What if he doesn’t want a family with her at all?

They’ve never talked about it. They should have maybe, but they hadn’t. And now they’re going to have to regardless of what the test says and she can’t—

And yet...would it be the worst thing? There’s a small piece of her, a very small piece that cuts through the cold fear with a flash of fierce want. It’s the same piece that recoils when she considers that if the test is positive she would have options.

Which...tells her a lot more than she’d maybe like. 

For a moment, Lucy desperately wishes that she could talk to her own mother. To anyone who might be able to understand exactly how she’s feeling. But that’s not possible because Rittenhouse took that from her as well. 

The timer rings. Lucy lifts her head and swipes at her eyes. 

_I love him_ , she reminds herself. _I love Garcia Flynn. And he loves me_. 

She loves him. Whatever the test says.

Lucy wipes her sweaty palms on her pajama pants and crosses over to the sink.

_Pregnant._

_Oh God_.

The knock at the door startles her out of her blank stare.

“Lucy?”

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then takes another one for good measure. 

_I love him. We can do this._

_Right?_

Lucy opens the door, trying not to burst into yet another round of tears.

Concern is written plainly across Flynn’s face and this time when he reaches for her she lets him pull her into his chest.

“If you ask me to marry you because of this, I may hurt you,” she mumbles against his shirt.

Flynn stiffens infinitesimally, his eyes flicking towards the positive test, but immediately relaxes and smooths a hand down her spine, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“What if I asked you to marry me simply because I want to marry you?” 

If he notices the way his shirt slowly grows damp, he tactfully doesn’t mention it.

“If that were the case...I suppose I might have to at least consider it,” Lucy acknowledges, lifting her head to give him a watery smile.

“I love you,” he says again, bringing a hand to her cheek to wipe away a stray tear.

“I know.”

 _We can do this_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [my arms were always around you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131680) by [only_more_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love)
  * [The Best Laid Plans](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876002) by [extasiswings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings)




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